Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
NICHOLAS
I’ve had enough experience with women to know when one is conning me, and my wife just tried to pull sex’s version of a bait and switch. The first time with someone is always a little odd, even strained. They don’t know your likes and dislikes, and you don’t know theirs.
That’s where experience comes in.
I know to watch for cues, and I know how to spot fake enjoyment from a mile off. Not that I’ve had a whole lot of women fake orgasms with me, come to think of it. In fact, I can’t name a single one. Victoria’s overacting was Oscar worthy.
“Liar?” She gives a girlish giggle as simulated as her supposed climax. Victoria isn’t the giggling type. “Why would I lie?”
“Good question.” I cage her with my arms on either side of her head, my thighs trapping her legs. “I’m a tolerant man most of the time, but like anything, there are varying degrees, and the one thing I despise above all else is a liar.” I run my nose down hers, the move one of warning not of intimacy. “You faked it.”
“I didn’t.” She won’t meet my eyes, her gaze somewhere around the middle of my torso. “It was great. Honestly.”
I scoff a laugh. “Honesty? You’re talking to me about honesty? I mean it, Half-pint. Spill the beans, or that spanking we talked about is going to come around far faster than either of us expected.”
She must pick up on the caution in my tone because she slowly lifts her eyes to mine, her tongue dampening what I’m guessing are dry lips. She swallows then licks them again.
Her right shoulder shifts in an attempted shrug. “Okay, I faked it. So what? I’ve never liked sex all that much, anyway. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Her reasoning couldn’t have shocked me any more than if she’d taken the marble lamp to her right and clobbered me over the head with it.
“How many men have you slept with?”
Her eyes shoot wide. “I’m not telling you that. It’s private.”
“We’re married. There’s no such thing as private. How many?”
She pushes at my chest, but she’s no match for my strength, especially from such a submissive position.
“How many? I won’t ask again.”
She almost pouts. If this wasn’t so serious, it’d be cute. “Fine. Two. Happy now?”
“Nothing about this is making me happy, I can assure you.” I roll to the side, and she immediately sits up, but before she can make a run for it, I capture her around the waist and pull her down to the mattress with me, her back to my front. Intuition tells me she might open up a bit more if we’re not face to face.
“If you don’t see what all the fuss is about, then you’ve been fucking the wrong men.”
A bitter laugh spills out of her. “Your ego is showing.”
Drawing her hair over her shoulder and freeing up her neck, I press a soft kiss there. “I think you mean my experience is showing.” I bite her earlobe. “Let me make something clear to you to ensure we’re both on the same page. If you ever fake an orgasm with me again, I will put you over my knee and spank the living fucking daylights out of you.”
She gasps, but I press on. “If you’re not feeling it, you open that sassy mouth of yours and tell me. Then we try something different until we figure out what you do like.”
Spine stiffening, she shuffles forward. I pull her back to me. There’s more to this than she’s letting on, and I won’t quit until I get to the bottom of it.
“Why do you care?” Her voice cracks on the last word, which isn’t at all like her. I should be happy. I wanted to subjugate her—at least I thought I did—and I have.
But not like this. Not when she sounds so… heartbroken.
“You didn’t even want to marry me.”
“That’s true. But we are married, and I think, if we work at it, we could be content. Happy, even.”
“I don’t see why me enjoying or not enjoying sex affects you.”
Jesus. I bury my nose in her hair. Who are these fucking guys she’d slept with? Any man worth his salt gets far greater enjoyment by being with a willing partner—one whose pleasure equals their own.
“Believe me, it’s important.”
“Well, then, you’re in for a disappointment.” She sounds detached, the earlier emotion missing from her voice. “It’s all a waste of time. I’m not built that way. I can’t… I can’t orgasm. Not easily, anyway. You’ll get bored.”
I’m not a mind reader, but I’m proficient in reading between the lines. One or both of those pieces of shit she’s been with have made her think this way. I’ve slept with women in the past who take longer to reach climax. All it takes is some fucking patience, watching for bodily cues, and encouraging them to speak up and tell me what they like and what they don’t. What they want more of or less of. Harder, softer, faster, slower.
“I could play with your body all day and not get bored.”
“Yeah, sure.” The laugh she follows up with lacks any mirth.
Lowering my hand to her right hip, I roll her until she’s facing me, and I wait. And wait. And wait. Eventually, she gives me her eyes.
“Have you ever come during a sexual encounter?”
Pink blooms in her cheeks. Evidently, she’s unused to intimate conversations. Well, too bad. I’m not backing down. Communication is how we solve this.
“No.”
“And what about when you masturbate?”
She pulls her gaze away. “Can we not? This is humiliating.”
“You find intimacy humiliating?” I don’t wait for her to reply. “What about if you use a vibrator? Is it easier then?”
“God, Nicholas.” She grabs a pillow and slams it over her face. She mumbles something, her words eaten up by goose feathers and a cotton casing.
I grab the pillow and tear it from her fisted hands. “Talk to me.”
“It’s always hard. I just… I can’t. I tense up. I think I’m broken.” When I smile, she palms my shoulder. “That’s right; laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m… entranced by you.” I quickly peck her lips. “Wait there.”
I enter the bathroom, gathering up the things I need. It gives me a few minutes of alone time to process the last hour. She’d been turned on when I kissed her, but somewhere along the way, she’d let her mind control her body, and that’s when it’d all gone wrong. Sex isn’t cerebral, it’s instinctual. If I get her relaxed enough, she’ll climax.
And when she does, I’m going to be right there to witness her coming undone. Something tells me it’ll be quite the sight. Fuck, I want that. I want to be the one to unlock the door to her pleasure.
After that, I’ll dig for the reason she’s like this. Because there will be one. There’s a difference between a woman who takes a little longer to orgasm and a woman who thinks she’s somehow defective.
When I return to the bedroom, Victoria is hiding beneath the pillow again. I set down the things I got from the bathroom and tug it from her fisted hands. “Roll onto your stomach.”
She peeks at the bottles on the bedside table. “Oils? What for?”
“I’m going to massage you.”
Her eyes flare. “Why?”
“Because you’re as stiff as the spine on a brand-new book. This will relax you.”
“Oh.” She shifts onto her front and rests her head on her arms. “I bet this isn’t how you thought your wedding night would go.”
“Half-pint, stop.” I gather her hair in a ponytail and tie it out of the way.
“Stop what?”
“Stop with the self-deprecating. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a feisty, opinionated woman.”
“Which is why you chose Elizabeth.”
I sigh. She’s not wrong, and I won’t disrespect her by pretending otherwise, especially after my speech about lying. Her audacity and irascibility are the precise reasons I chose her meek and mild sister, but now we’ve spent a little more time together, I’m starting to agree with what Dad said when he proposed this marriage. Maybe I should have picked her all along. Maybe taming her is the last thing I should want.
I’m confounded, truly.
Instead of responding, I pour oil into my hands and rub them together. I start at her feet, massaging the soles, grateful she isn’t ticklish. My cock and balls are too close for comfort, and while my wedding night isn’t going as I thought it would, I’d rather not spend it with an ice bucket between my legs.
I work my way up to her calves, then the backs of her thighs. I skip her backside, forcing myself not to give into the urge to bite the perfectly shaped round globes.
Slowly, the muscles in her back slacken, and her spine moves into a more neutral position. It’s as though she’s sinking farther into the mattress, and she keeps making these sexy as sin keening sounds that has precum leaking from my dick.
I spend at least fifteen minutes kneading the muscles of her neck and shoulders, and by the time I roll her over, she’s half asleep.
“Still with me?” I brush my lips over hers, then re-oil my hands.
“Mm,” is all I get in response.
A smile inches across my face, but her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t see it. I work my way down her arms, into her hands, across her clavicle, avoiding her breasts even though her erect nipples are begging for my tongue. Her skin is flushed pink—a sure sign of arousal. She’s getting there.
By the time I finish back where I started at her feet, she’s as relaxed as a cat sleeping in the sun. In fact, as she stretches, she reminds me of exactly that.
Scooting down the bed, I press my hands to her thighs, parting them. The glistening sight of her pussy almost makes me come, but tonight isn’t about me. It’s about her. Tonight, I’m going to fucking prove she’s not broken. She’s a woman who takes a little longer to reach orgasm, that’s all. It’s not her fault she had the misfortune of sleeping with two guys who clearly couldn’t find a clit if I gave them a state-of-the-art GPS system. And even if they found it, it’s evident they didn’t have a fucking clue what to do with it.
When my tongue connects with her damp flesh, she tenses, but only for a moment. I circle the hard nub with the tip of my tongue. Once, twice, a third time. Her pelvis lifts off the bed and she pushes her pussy closer to my face. A good sign. I cup her arse, and I do what I do best. I fucking feast.
“Ohhhh, Goddddddd.” Thrusting her fingers into my hair, she tugs hard enough to pull it out at the roots. “Nicholas. God. God. ”
My mouth is full of her, my nose is brimming with her scent, my hands roving over her soft curves. I lose track of time, lose myself in her. My jaw aches, my tongue throbs, and still I keep going, keep eating her like she’s a rare, exquisite delicacy.
“Don’t stop.” She’s panting now, her muscles undulating. She’s close. I slide my hands over her ribs, cup her perfect tits, and pinch both her nipples.
“Nicholas, Jesus Christ .”
My tongue is inside her when she comes, the walls of her pussy rippling and clenching as her cum floods my mouth. I don’t stop, not until the pulses abate and she collapses back to the mattress.
My cock is leaking, desperate to push inside her wet heat, but I don’t. I’m not sure why. Instinct maybe. Instead, I crawl beside her and wrap my arms around her waist. The second I do, I’m glad I didn’t fuck her because she bursts into tears.
Victoria isn’t a crier. Not that I’ve seen, and my family have known hers for years. She’s tough as they come, one of the few people who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Her eulogy at Elizabeth’s funeral is testament to her courage. Yet she’s quivering and shaking in my arms, her tears soaking my neck and shoulder where she’s buried her face.
It takes a while before she gathers herself. I wait, my fingers trailing up and down her spine. When she tilts back her head, greeting me with stained cheeks and eyes still shining with tears she’s held back, something shifts inside my chest.
“I’m s-sorry.”
I brush my thumbs over her cheeks. “What for?”
She gives a little laugh tinged with disbelief. “You won the jackpot with me, huh? Takes a monumental effort to climax, then I break down the second I have. You’re a lucky man.”
I stare deep into her eyes, and when I say, “I am, yes,” I fucking mean it.
And no one is more surprised than me.